


Blue Flames

by XFilesinAMajor



Series: GLOW [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fearamid, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XFilesinAMajor/pseuds/XFilesinAMajor
Summary: This doesn't fit in with the rest of the series, but here it is anyway. Essentially it's just Stan's internal monologue for the last fifteen minutes or so prior to his memory wipe.
Series: GLOW [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574239
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Blue Flames

It was the end of the world.

Sitting in an electric blue pyramid made of a substance he’d never heard of, hurting pretty much everywhere, and wondering whether this could all be just a bad trip from a nasty case of food poisoning or something, Stan Pines put his head in his hands.

The whole damn thing was impossible. The _whole damn thing_.

Except it wasn’t. Ford had told him, hadn’t he. When came back through. That reactivating the portal could cause something like this. Thanks, genius. Couldn’t have said that _before_ he vanished into it for three decades, could he. Couldn’t have shouted “Stanley, whatever you do, _don’t_ try to get me back, it could end the world” as he got sucked into that blue swirly thing. No, it had been “Stanley, do something!”

So he had.

Never mind that Ford had no idea what it had been like here, trying to put together the world’s biggest pain in the ass puzzle when more than half the pieces were missing. Going to Mom’s funeral in someone else’s tailor-made gloves, with paper shoved in the sixth finger so it didn’t look empty. Secrets upon secrets upon secrets. Astronomical power bills. Staying put in one backwater town full of idiots and weirdos. Thirty years.

_Stanley, do something_. And then he did, and what did he get for it? You ruined my life, you stole my name, you took over my house, you endangered the world, you idiot. Shit, he hadn’t _meant_ to. He’d been trying to do the _right_ thing.

And now there were nightmare monsters roaming the streets. And now reality wasn’t following any of its own rules. And now a few people he actually cared about were fucking _carpets_ stuck to a _wall_. And now some giant triangle jerk in a stupid top hat was tossing him around with magic and locking him up in things that shouldn’t even exist—because they’d been trying, _again_ , to save his stuck up, ungrateful brother. And now Ford hated him more than ever. And now the kids were in danger.

The rest of it, he probably could have lived with. Reality was always a little flexible in Gravity Falls. Ford had hated him ever since that dumb project in high school. The triangle guy hadn’t even been all that scary, because he’d been warned about him, years and years ago. He’d figured since he got Ford back anyhow, none of that had mattered. After thirty years he’d pulled it off, and the feds forgot all about it, and the kids still trusted him, and they’d fought the jackass talking triangle and gotten rid of him. Everything should’ve been okay.

But the world was ending, and Mabel and Dipper, they were in danger. That Bill guy wasn’t messing around, he’d really kill them without missing a beat. _Teagan,_ he thought, latching onto a memory, _why didn’t you warn me about this?_

The answer to that wasn’t so hot. Maybe she hadn’t thought she’d needed to, because she’d known that they beat Bill. But how in the hell were they supposed to do it? That zodiac, maybe. _Maybe_? Hell, _probably_. He’d dismissed it because he was pissed—about Ford, about no one listening to him, about his Shack getting screwed up, about everything—but deep down he’d known they were onto something. He’d seen it glowing. The fact that there was a hand with six fingers on there, and the stuff that matched the kids’ favorite clothes, and the logo from _his hat_ …Stan wasn’t stupid. Those weren’t coincidences.

But he’d been pissed, and he’d been stubborn, and as usual he’d screwed everything up. He’d broke the damn timeline, that’s what he’d done. Whatever was _supposed_ to happen to fix this, he’d wrecked it. Now who knew what was going to happen in the future. If there even _was_ one. No pretty girlfriends turning up looking like they hadn’t aged a day, because they hadn’t. No more Mystery Shack to work at. No fucking _world_. No more Ford, no kids. No clue if he was even gonna walk out of this one alive—though if the kids didn’t make it, why would he want to?

The kids were going to die. There was no way they were getting away from that monster. And it was all because he’d been too stubborn to let things go and finish that damn magic circle. The kids—Dipper, Mabel, the first family he’d really had in years, the only people besides Soos who acted like they cared about him—were going to die, and it was _his fault_.

“The kids are gonna die,” he said out loud, wondering if that would make it seem less real. “And it’s all my fault.” Nope, not getting any better for saying it out loud. He looked over at Ford, sitting on the ground just a foot away. “Because I couldn’t shake your stupid hand.” Saying it aloud was making it _worse_ , actually. “Dad was right about me. I _am_ a screw up.”

In that moment, he might have been okay with Ford just letting him have it. Telling him that yeah, he was the worthless twin, the good for nothing who always got it wrong. Right then, he hated himself more than Ford ever could.

Which was, of course, why his brother took the high road this time. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m the one who made the deal with Bill in the first place,” Ford said, sounding just about as miserable as Stan felt. “I fell for all his easy flattery. _You_ would have seen him for the scam artist he is.”

Wow, a humble word from Poindexter. It really _must_ be the end of the world. Stan sighed. “How did things get so messed up between us?”

“We _used_ to be like Dipper and Mabel,” Ford recalled wistfully. “World’s about to end and they still work together. How do they do it?”

“Easy. They’re kids. They don’t know any better.” Stan could still remember working on that boat with Ford, day after day, learning and goofing off and nothing to worry about but a bad case of sunburn. Or just sitting on those swings planning adventures that they actually thought would happen. Everything hadn’t been great even back then, but it had sure been a hell of a lot _easier_. You grew up and real life came in and wrecked everything. Ugh, he wished he knew a way to save the kids from winding up like him.

No, there were worse things than growing up. _Not_ growing up because you got killed by some crazy demon would be a lot worse. He couldn’t live with that. There had to be some way out of this. There was _always_ a way out. Damn it, Stan, _think_!

Ford pushed himself up to his feet, and Stan looked at him with alarm. “Whoa, where you going?”

“To play the only card we have left—let Bill into my mind.” Stan’s stomach did a somersault at his brother’s tone before he even processed the words. “He’ll be able to take over the galaxy, maybe even worse, but at least he might let the kids free.”

His stomach flipped again, but this time it felt like _hope_. He didn’t like that, not one bit. That wasn’t a choice he should be getting hopeful about. But the _kids!_ You gonna trade the whole world for a couple of kids, jackass?

Of course he would. That was the part that scared him the most.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded, getting up so he could face Ford. “You’re honestly telling me there’s _nothing_ else we can do?” Sure, _he_ couldn’t think of anything else. But this was Ford. He was the genius. He always had an answer to everything.

_He did. The circle. And you blew it._

Ford shrugged unhappily. “Bill’s only weak in the mind space. If I didn’t have this darn plate in my head, we could just erase him with the memory gun when he steps inside my mind.”

That’s right, he’d talked about getting some metal plate in there. It had struck Stan as a pretty dumb thing to do to yourself last time he’d mentioned it, and now it seemed even dumber. One other solution that could have worked, but no, Poindexter had to go protect himself from memory guns. Nice.

But Stan didn’t have one. “What if he goes into _my_ mind?” he suggested. “ _My_ brain isn’t good for anything.” He didn’t like the idea of that demon guy messing around inside his head, but at least it was an _idea_.

Ford laughed a little sadly. “There’s nothing in your mind he _wants_. It has to be me.” Well, shit. It was a good idea for the two seconds it lasted. “I’ll take his deal,” Ford went on. Now he just sounded kind of resigned. “It’s the only way he’ll agree to save you and the kids.”

That was a pretty crap deal. And he didn’t trust Bill any further than he could throw him—so basically, not at all. “You really think he’s gonna make good on that deal?”

His brother shrugged. “What other choice do we _have_?”

“I guess we don’t.” The back of his head hurt. He rubbed at it irritably. “But I don’t like it.” Especially since it was _his fucking fault_.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to get Ford back safe, and he’d be so grateful, and they’d spend the rest of the summer just running the Shack and maybe fishing with the kids. And then next year the kids would come back again and Teagan would turn up, not some crazy cat lady, _Teagan_ , only this time he’d actually get to meet her kids, and maybe someday he’d even retire and they could go all the places he’d never checked off his bucket list, and…

And he’d blown it. He’d blown it so badly even _he_ was impressed with himself. What he had to do was find a way to save the kids. Maybe Ford, too. There had to be a way to do at least that.

Damn it, why did his head still hurt? He took off his fez, exploring the back of his skull for a bump. He’d gotten thrown around enough by Bill and his crew. That must be it. It didn’t really worry him, but it was annoying. He wasn’t allowed to hurt right now, not with this much on the line. You’ve had way worse, old man. Push through it.

He looked over at his brother, who was running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he tried to think. It brought back a memory from years ago, the first time he ever set foot in the Shack. Ford had looked rough then, too. He hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, and he’d been horrified by how much his twin had aged. Sure, the years hadn’t been great to him either, but those circles under Ford’s eyes had been like looking at a bad reflection of…of…

A bad reflection.

He looked down at the hat in his hand, and then again at Ford’s hair sticking up all over.

Slowly, an idea wormed its way into his mind. It was stupid—because Bill, this triangle guy, he _wasn’t_. They’d pulled it off a few times when they were kids, sure, but that was a hell of a long time ago. And yeah, maybe he’d done okay at it at Mom’s funeral, but not with someone else’s life on the line. It was a stupid idea.

Then again, Ford’s idea was to just give the lying demon exactly what he wanted. Could it really be any stupider than _that_?

They’d be gambling with the kids’ lives, though.

But he was a gambler. Always had been. He was worthless, and a gambler, and a conman. Right here, right now, those might be the best traits he could hope for.

Still holding his fez, he turned to Ford. “Here. Put this on.”

Ford took it, staring at it with polite confusion, and then Stan watched his eyes get wide. “It couldn’t possibly work. Something so juvenile?”

“Just try it on, genius.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, watching his brother adjusting the hat until it sat just right over his hair. “How’s your impression of me these days?”

“What, like it’s hard?” Ford retorted in a voice that Stan _guessed_ sounded like him. “Ya never stopped talking like you came from Jersey, knucklehead.”

“Why would I?” he asked defensively without thinking. “It’s where we’re from, ain’t it?” Right, that’s not what this was about. He took a breath and tried to think like a prissy nerd. “I never felt the need to impress everyone with my intelligence, unlike certain people.” He smoothed out the syllables, imitating his brother’s speech patterns. It wasn’t that hard, really.

For just a second, they grinned at each other, and things felt okay.

Couldn’t last, though. The world was ending.

“Are we really doing this?” Ford asked, going back to his regular voice. “You think it can work?”

Stan shrugged out of his jacket. “Honestly, I dunno. That Bill guy’s smart. But I’ll tell you this—the one thing I’ve learned about smart guys is that they’re always too full of themselves. They don’t believe anyone can pull one over on them, cause of how _smart_ they are. Some of the easiest marks, trust me.”

Ford narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if that was a shot at him. Maybe it was, a little. But it didn’t matter right now. “You’re right. Mabel was able to spray him in the eye with that aerosol because it never occurred to him someone would dare to try something so basic.” He started to nod, a light coming into his eyes. “I think it has a chance, Stanley. But…” The light faded, and he took the fez back off, passing it back and forth between his hands. “You don’t really understand what you’re suggesting.”

Stan dropped his tie on top of his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Sure I do. We pull the old switcheroo on him. I make a deal, as you. Get him to go into my head. Then, bang, you hit me with that gun and erase him.”

Ford stood there worthlessly, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s never that simple,” he retorted, peeling his shirt off. “Hurry up and start changing. I dunno how long he’s gonna be gone, do you?”

Looking shaken, his brother set the hat down and shed his trench coat. “I can’t just erase Bill from your mind once he’s in there. He’s too slippery. I don’t even know his real name—Bill is just one he chose for himself in our dimension.”

“So what do you do?” Stan unbuckled his belt. His sense of urgency was getting stronger. Bill wasn’t back yet, that meant the kids were still safe. Probably. But how long could they keep it up? He loved their gumption, but he couldn’t see any way they actually _beat_ the guy on their own. Best he could hope for was them escaping, and that was a long shot.

Either way, Bill would be back soon. He just knew it, the way you got the feeling the cops were right around the corner when a job was going too smooth. If he came back before they’d finished switching clothes, the jig was up. He refused to get caught with his pants down.

“I’ll…” Ford was stripping quicker now, but he was sure being slow to spit out whatever this big complication was. “I’ll have to erase _everything_ , I think. Wipe out the entire place and him with it.”

“Place?” He stepped out of his pants and held his hand out impatiently for Ford’s pair. Thankfully, his twin didn’t comment on the girdle he was wearing under his suit. “Wait, you mean my _mind_?”

He handed over the pants, and Stan started putting them on. They were tight, but he could make it work. “Precisely.” Ford pulled his turtleneck over his head, leaving his hair sticking up at all angles. He stepped closer, pressing it into Stan’s hands. “The only way to be certain of destroying Bill is to erase your entire mind. Everything.”

Stan tugged the shirt on. Better not to stop and think, at this point. “Okay.”

Ford blinked. “Stanley, you can’t just…”

“Like hell I can’t!” he snapped, walking over to grab Ford’s coat from the ground. “I get what you’re saying, okay? I can read the _look_ on your face. As good as dead, right? You gotta wipe out my whole brain, fine, okay, do it. If I gotta go down to take out that damn triangle, I’ll do it.”

“You’re not thinking this through!” Ford protested.

In the middle of putting on a shoe, Stan stopped and stared him down. “I _can’t_ stop and think it through, genius. We don’t have a better plan, we’re going with this one.”

“But…”

“What, you’re gonna try and talk me out of it?” He shoved the shoe on and straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest. “After I screwed up your only other plan to get rid of that jerk?” He didn’t want to hear the answer, and changed the subject. “How do I look?”

“You…” Ford’s brows wrinkled. “You look like me, I suppose.” He sounded surprised. “You look a _lot_ like me.”

“Great.” He sat down, staring into the distance as Ford finished putting on the suit. No Bill yet. That could be a good thing, could be a bad thing. Damn, he really hoped the kids were safe. He couldn’t handle this sick feeling of fear inside him.

A six-fingered hand held out a pair of glasses. He accepted them, kicking himself for not thinking of that on his own. He pulled his own frames off and handed them up in exchange. The prescription was close, but not quite right. Made everything seem just a little off. Like everything wasn’t already a _lot_ off.

“It’d only be your memories,” Ford said, sitting down next to him. “Not all necessary brain function. ‘As good as dead’ might be a stretch, but it’s still a huge sacrifice. I shouldn’t have to ask it of you.” He paused, staring in the same direction as Stan. “It should have been me.”

“Well, it can’t be.” Yeah, he was snapping. The world was ending and that was his fault, he didn’t know if the kids were okay or if Bill would buy into this scam, and even if everything worked he wasn’t going to be around to celebrate it. If he stopped to think about this too long he might start screaming.

All his memories. Everything. _Everything._ He wouldn’t know the kids, wouldn’t know Ford, wouldn’t recognize the Mystery Shack if it bit him in the ass. That last garbage episode of _Ducktective,_ that’d be gone. That time he punched a pterodactyl for Mabel’s damn pig, that’d be gone too. That whole day he’d spent teaching Soos to throw a punch, gone. The night he took Dipper bowling, the time he was on Cash Wheel, the day he’d gotten his car—gone, gone, gone. The big fight with Ford. The taste of Mom’s cooking. The smell of Carla’s hair. All the places he’d buried gold on the property, shit! The color of Teagan’s glow, watching her curl up against him in her sleep. Pancakes at Greasy’s. When he caught that trophy bass—was it twelve pounds, or was that just the weight he’d claimed it was? Mabel saying she trusted him. That huge blanket fort he and Ford made in fifth grade.

Gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But it was.

Yeah, he was scared. It might not be dying, but it was close enough, and he wasn’t ready to go. His life hadn’t been anything like he’d expected, or wanted, but it was _his_ life. He’d fought through a lot, and he’d made his own place in the world, and if he was really honest with himself it wasn’t half bad. He kind of liked this dumb town, he was proud of what he’d done with the Shack, and whether or not Ford was grateful he’d succeeded in getting him back. He’d had a few laughs, fallen in love once, made some money. He didn’t want to lose that.

But Ford couldn’t do it. And he’d be _damned_ before he let Bill Cipher hurt the kids.

Ford put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off.

This was all his fault anyway. But maybe he could make it right. All he had to do was give up everything.

Ha, fitting—he’d spent half his life pretending to be Stanford Pines. And that’s exactly the way he was going out.

Footsteps. Loud enough to shake the ground, like that scene from _Cretaceous Park_. The brothers exchanged looks. This was it, moment of truth. He was coming back.

“Alright, Ford!” Bill announced, crawling through the giant doorway, bigger than any dinosaur. Dipper and Mabel looked tiny, struggling in his fist. But they were alive. Stan hadn’t understood how scared he’d really been until he saw that they were still alive. Now to keep it that way. He got to his feet, rolling his shoulders back, trying to match Ford’s perfect posture.

“Time’s up.” Bill sure loved the sound of his own voice. “I’ve got the kids! I think I’m gonna kill one of them now, just for the heck of it.” The monster’s pupil changed into a shooting star, a pine tree, a shooting star again. “Eenie…meenie…” He wouldn’t really do it? In front of them? For no reason?

Of course he would. That’s what guys like this _did_ for fun. That’s why someone had to stop him.

“Minie…m—”

Inner nerd, inner nerd. Dammit, why couldn’t he just _punch_ Bill? One strong right hook, everything would be so much simpler. _Fuck you, buddy_ , that’s what he wanted to say, but what _Ford_ would say was—

“Wait! I surrender!”

Ford turned and grabbed his shoulders, yelling “Don’t do it, Ford!” and Stan spent a fraction of a second appreciating that it really was a pretty good imitation of him. “It’ll destroy the universe!”

He tried to shake him off. “It’s the only way!”

Bill laughed. The sound crawled right under his skin, made him feel like his was back in the bug infested prison cell in Columbia. (Soon that’d all be gone, too. Didn’t matter.) “Even when you’re about to die, you Pines twins just can’t get along.” The kids went crashing to the ground as Bill lost interest. His giant fingers snapped in a bunch of blue flames, and just like that their pyramid prison was gone. Stan barely had time to process it before magical ropes appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around Ford and pulling him to his knees. But no ropes came up around Stan. That was a good sign. That had to be a good sign.

_It’s me. It’s gotta be me._ For a second he felt frozen, caught in the act, lost. He shoved it all to the side. All the fear, the anger, the memories, the hopes. No place for that here. He stood up straighter and lifted his chin. “My one condition is that you let my brother and the kids go.”

“No, Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouted. “Don’t trust him!”

Stan looked at the boy. Brave kid right there. And smart, too. He’d do alright. Mabel, too. Resourceful, unstoppable. The world needed them. He couldn’t _say_ any of that. Couldn’t even meet Dipper’s eyes, cause he couldn’t risk blowing the whole thing. But in his head, he wished them both all the best in the world.

He stepped toward Bill and inclined his head. I’m Ford, buddy. I have what you want. Right here, take the bait, come on. You know you want to.

“It’s a deal,” said Bill, blue flames appearing all over his hand. _Wonder if they hurt_ , thought Stan, and grabbed onto it.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like _anything_. Until the demon’s hand turned to stone, anyway. That part was pretty weird. Stan let go, stepping back as the whole triangular body turned into a statue and hit the ground. It couldn’t be _that_ easy, it—oh, no, there he was. Nothing but a bunch of glowing lines now, but still with that annoying laugh.

They—it—he—came at him fast, becoming larger and smaller at the same time. Shouldn’t been possible. Stan stumbled back in horror but it was like those lines were locked right onto him, Bill was all he could see, Bill was all there _was_ , and he was well and truly _fucked_.

Time and reality stopped. Nothing to avoid, no rules to follow, but he remembered what he was supposed to do. Keep him here. Run interference. Distraction. Give Ford and the kids time to take care of the rest.

He went to the TV room in the Mystery Shack. Felt like a good place to be. That was _his_ place. He’d played poker there, watched TV, laughed with the kids, drank a lot of soda, fallen asleep, even had sex a couple of times. As much as anywhere in the world, that room was his place, and going there meant having Bill on _his_ terms.

He sat down in his armchair. Realized he didn’t have to be wearing Ford’s dumb clothes anymore, and just like that he wasn’t. Got himself a Pitt and a paddle ball, put his feet up. If this was the end of the world, it wasn’t so bad. Where was that triangle guy already? Let’s get this over with.

The door opened. Maybe all he’d had to do was think it. This was _his_ mind, after all. Bill stood in the doorway. “You really know how to clear your m…” The demon stopped, and seeing him that shocked almost made the whole thing worthwhile. “ _What?_ ” he screeched.

Stan grinned and hit him with a finger gun. _This is_ my _space now. I don’t have to go out as Ford after all. I’m going out me._ “Do a pretty good impression of my brother, don’t I?” He leaned back in the chair, relaxing. It was mostly for show, but he wanted to rub it in as much as he could. _I beat you, asshole. I_ beat _you!_ “Switch clothes and no one can tell us apart. Welcome to my mind—surprised you didn’t recognize it.”

Bill went from surprised to angry. “What? The deal’s off!” He turned back to the door, ready to storm out. Stan made it slam shut in his face. That felt pretty good.

The blue flames that started pouring under the door were just as much of a surprise to Stan as they were to Bill, but he understood what that meant. It was the memory gun. They were doing it. It was _working_.

“What the—? No, no no no!” The demon panicked as the flames spread quickly, making a circle around the whole room. They weren’t hot. They felt a little weird, bringing up a bunch of memories into Stan’s head unbidden when they got close. They smelled like Dad’s cigar smoke. And then canned meat. Then incense. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Oh yeah, you’re going down, Bill,” he announced with relish. “You’re getting _erased_. Memory gun. Pretty clever, huh?”

“You idiot! Don’t you realize you’re destroying your own mind, too?”

And _that_ was something smart guys and real jerks never got. The idea that you didn’t mind the pain of a really hard punch, as long as it hurt the other guy more. That you’d walk smack in front of that flying trophy if it meant a chance at taking out the guy who threw it. That even if you were a jerk and a screw up, you might want to protect someone else once in a while.

“Eh.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I was using the space for much, anyway.” Was that music playing now? Felt like the flames were playing music. Something from the 50s, or maybe the 60s. Something he used to dance to, but he couldn’t place it.

“Let me outta here! Let me _out_!” Big shot triangle guy was throwing a full-on temper tantrum now, like one of those bratty little kids that came on tours sometimes, screaming and stomping his feet, trying every trick in the book to get his parents to buy him something. “Why isn’t this working?”

Stan got to his feet. There were voices in the flames now. He ignored them, towering over Bill. Dumb jerk didn’t seem nearly so scary now. “Hey, look at me! Turn around and _look_ at me, you one-eyed demon!”

Bill _did_ turn, and that signaled loud and clear this fight was already won. “You’re a real wise guy,” Stan told him, “but you made one fatal mistake. You messed with my _family_.”

The demon begged. Should’ve seen that coming. Offering up anything in the universe that’d save his own pathetic skin. Some of it would have been pretty tempting, if it had been believable for half a second. Knucklehead had no power anymore. Not here, not anywhere. Even if he could have delivered, it didn’t matter. He’d messed with Stan Pines’ family. No amount of money or power was going to make up for _that_.

Stan threw a punch. A good, hard one, right into the middle of the thing’s face. He felt the eye squish, and then the whole triangle kind of…came apart. Broke into pieces. Shattered.

And that was it.

The flames were all around him now. They almost felt like a woman’s fingertips as they licked at his skin. The back of his mouth tasted like blood. The voices in the flames were memories, overlapping each other like waves on the shore back in Glass…glass…what was the name of that town?

He turned, and the room behind him was gone. He couldn’t quite remember what used to be in it anyhow. But there was still a table, with a picture on it, him with a couple of kids and a pig. He knew those kids, damn it. They were…whose kids were they? Not his kids, someone else’s. But that didn’t matter. Dipper and Mabel.

And they were safe. He knew that much. Stan picked the picture up and looked down at it. Everything around him was a terrifying blank, but you know what? That was okay. He’d saved the kids. In the end, he’d done the right thing.

“Guess I was good for something after all,” he said to himself, and smiled.

Wait, what did I do?

And who am I?

A couple of names floated through his head, but not his name.

And then the fire was everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> This story does not properly fit anywhere within my little series. I’m not even really sure I can take credit for writing this, because half of it is lifted directly from Weirdmaggedon Part 3 and most of the rest was brought about by a very astute comment on Time Out of Mind. Which I assume you’ve read, if you’re here. 
> 
> The comment was to the tune of “Since 2014 Teagan talks to 1989 Stan about his past, wouldn’t he recall that in 2012 and know that he makes it through Weirdmaggedon just fine, with his memory intact? And if so, doesn’t that cheapen everything he went through in the Fearamid, and the sacrifice he made?”
> 
> My answer is that logically, yes—but who the heck said Stan was thinking logically at that point? I couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. So I wrote this.


End file.
